Page 1 of Run

Prologue

“Do you know how long I have waited for this day? How long I’ve hidden in the shadows, just waiting for the right time to scoop you up and finally make you mine. Do you, princess?”

The iron chains that bind her slender, cuffed wrists to the O-ring hook on the St. Andrew’s cross rattle with each spastic breath she sucks in through her clenched teeth. Her ample chest heaves, and her lithe body trembles at my words. The fear is so paramount that I can smell it wafting from her, as it deliciously scents the dank air of the basement with its sweetness.

She really is the most precious thing I’ve ever encountered, and now she’s mine, all mine. Her presence here is the dawn of a new day, enlightening my world in ways that, until now, I’ve only fantasized about.

“Please. Let me go.” She begs, her hands flexing over her shackles, the blood on her wrists from the fight she put up during her abduction dripping slowly down her fingers.

“I’m sorry my sweetness, but this is your new home now. As soon as you accept it and can be the good girl I know you are, I’ll take you down from there. But until then…” My words fall away, leaving her to finish the sentence with whatever images are flashing through her panicked mind.

It's amazing how a lot of the situations we put ourselves in during our lifetimes are self-fulfilling prophecies. We worry so much about what can happen that in essence, we materialize it and suddenly our fears transpire. She’s in that position now, where her behavioral response to her new found captivity will produce the final outcome of her residence here.

I can give her the world. More money, power, and love than she would ever receive anywhere else on this godforsaken planet. Or I can make the rest of her existence miserable, laden with torture and despair where she begs unsuccessfully for it to end. The choice is hers, and hers alone.

“Until then, what?” She asks, her warm brown eyes shimmering with unshed tears that threaten to fall with her next quivering word.

“That’s entirely up to you.”

Chapter One

April is the worst month of the year in the northeastern united states. The weather is still laced with the frost of winter, making the frequent rains icy enough to chill you to the bone. April showers bringing May flowers and all that bullshit is just that, bullshit. The only positive thing about all the rain is the fact that the lengthening days are gloomier than they should be, giving me the freedom to roam in the dark for more hours than daylight savings time would allow.

The all black leather gear I’ve adorned myself with does more to protect me from the asphalt if I were to dump my bike, than it does from the soaking wetness from yet another spring storm. It’s a miserable feeling, the already heavy clothing weighing me down even more as I careen through the streets on my one-liter sportbike.If the weather was warmer, I’d be riding squid, in nothing but street clothes, but it’s just too fucking cold for that still.

In better weather, I enjoy my rides home after a long day at the office. The peace and solitude inside my helmet and the freedom of being cage free as I drive relaxes me, helping me erase the shit of the job and prepare for my other, more enjoyable activities.

Being the CEO of a fortune 500 company that deals in international imports and exports may sound boring, but in reality it’s not. The amount of work I need to do, just to hidethe illegal activities of smuggling and tax evading, is enough to be making my jet back hair start to grey at the temples early. I’m only thirty, and I already feel like I’m at least ten years my senior.

I’m in my prime, but some days, I tell you, I don’t feel like it. The only times I really feel alive anymore is either when I’m racing as fast as my two wheels will allow, or when I’m buried balls deep in some pretty young thing as she cries out in pain at my sexual brutalities. Well, that and my OTHER extra-curricular activity, but we’ll visit that in a little bit.

The bike lurches between my legs as I flip up the shifter with my foot and pick up more speed. Just the thought of my cock getting wet in some prime pussy has me wanting to get home and start my evening of debauchery. Friday nights are my favorite, when the liquor flows freely, and the women throw themselves at me for just the chance at being my chosen ones for the evening.

The masquerade parties at “Le Chateaux” are the highlight of my week. The anonymity they provide for all the things I like to do both in the bedroom and playroom, gives me an outlet for all my dark pleasures. The women never know who the man behind the mask is, and I prefer it that way. I don’t want to date in the traditional sense. I don’t want some gold-digging floozy trying to get her greedy claws into me or my vast wealth. I sure as shit don’t want a relationship to just one cunt for the rest of my life. No, those things aren’t for me. They would never fit into my lifestyle, the lifestyle I enjoy and never want to give up.

The wrought iron gates to my compound squeak slightly as they swing open like a hungry mouth, ready to swallow me up. The long driveway up to the main house on the hill is like arocky esophagus, leading me to the gullet that I call home, and I maneuver it expertly, weaving around the ruts made in the surface from my truck tires during last night’s storm.

The pickup was extra heavy with the cargo I stowed in the back under the bed cover and made an absolute mess that I’ll have to repair, but it was worth it. The screams echoing off the walls of my basement made all the extra cleanup and disposal needs seem so insignificant.

My bike vibrates and bounces under my ass, and I lift myself up off the seat. I don’t need a shot to the nuts by my gas tank on the night I plan on using them over and over again. They need to be in perfect working order for all the ladies at “Le Chateaux”, because the sexual needs I have right now, after last evening’s activities are vast and can only be fulfilled by multiple orgasms over many writhing bodies.

As I approach my thirteen-bedroom, ten-bathroom mansion, the yapping sounds of my dogs grows louder. The pack of Dobermans patrol the property without fail, always keeping me and my secrets perfectly safe along with the security system and mass of cameras directed at every angle of my house. They’re the most protective and loyal breed of dog and I adore each and every one of them, treating them better than most men treat their wives.

Magnolia, my head bitch, is always the first to greet me and she trots behind the bike like the obedient girl she is as I pull into the massive garage. The door rattles loudly as it lowers closed behind us, enveloping us in the warmth of being out of the storm.

“Hey baby girl. Was today a good day?” I ask, parking the bike and dismounting so I can squat down and scratch her behind her cropped ears.

She answers me with a single quiet “woof” and a press of her wet head into my hand.

“Such a good girl. Come on inside.”

The other nine of them stay outdoors, having free access to their own cabin with warm beds, fresh running water, and all the food they can eat. In the rear of the property, where they can come and go as needed, they rule the kingdom, just as I do inside with my Magnolia at my side. Call me sentimental, or whatever you wish, but even the most vicious killers in history have had their loves, and she’s mine.

The house is toasty warm as we make our way from the garage into the massive kitchen. The dark woods and shiny marble make the space opulent to the extreme, a room worthy of a king’s castle. It’s my favorite room, with the ten-burner gas stove and triple ovens built into the cottage white walls.

Cooking is more than a hobby of mine, being not only something I love to do, but also the source of the only good memories I have from my childhood. I would watch my mother make elaborate meals, always with a smile on her beautiful face. She was a loving and stunning woman, before she was taken from me violently by the man who promised to love her.

Images of her, in her paisley apron in front of the stove, a wooden spoon in her hand, holding it out for me to taste the sauce in its ladle wash through my mind as I trot across the room. It makes me smile as I continue through the house, into the foyer, and up the vast staircase to my bedroom with Magnolia still on my heels.

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